Bound to the Dim Path
by Zial Shade
Summary: A dark past and no hope for a bright future, living out her days in parole and under the watch of a knight and Legion Officer. But perhaps things will change, for better or for worse, upon an encounter in the night...  Rated T for violence, OCxLucien L.


**(A/N:) If you found the summary rather lacking, I apologize - and blame the character limit. This would be my first fanfic ever, and for our dear, well-loved, very own, Elder Scrolls IV Oblivion. Rated T because, yes, there is violence, what fun is it _without_ violence? It's the Dark Brotherhood, ya know? And, of course, if it has anything to do with the Brotherhood, you know that Lucien Lachance is going to be there, and so are his fangirls that seem to be stalking him at the moment. (That would be me...) As I'm sure you all very well know, I do not own any Elder Scrolls stuff. That was a very general and true statement. It was also a disclaimer. I'm rambling! Moving on... I hope you like it, please review or comment or message or all of the above, but most importantly please read!~ Thank you, I'm done here and you can (finally) get on with the story that you came here for, if I haven't already scared you away with this huge bolded Author's Note.**

"_Turn away, O heartless Nine_  
><em>you have hidden what once was mine<em>  
><em>gone is the life I used to know<em>  
><em>but one must reap what one has sown<em>  
><em>yet I long to reclaim what once was mine,<em>  
><em>body and heart, soul and mind<em>  
><em>I long for the promise you've kept from me,<em>  
><em>a whisper of life, the chance to be free<em>  
><em>So, turn away, O heartless Nine<em>  
><em>the thieves of all that once was mine..."<em>

The haunting lullaby died away on her lips. Not that anyone would have heard it anyway, she was singing it much too softly, and the noise of travel masked the rest of the sound. The whispered words had been lost among the clang of armor and sword of her companion's, the soft canter of the horses hooves, the rustling of her own tattered robes, and the soft _chink_ of her wrist irons every time she adjusted her hands.

Her knight companion gave her a disgusted glance every now and then. He wasn't really her _companion_, more of a parole officer. She smirked to herself. You'd think that after years of being stuck together he'd stop looking at her like that. Then again, all the time in the world couldn't change the past, and nothing was going to make either of them forget why they were paired. And perhaps she shouldn't judge, after all her own hatred for the man hadn't diminished in the slightest. Besides, it _was_ her fault that they were in this mess in the first place.

Her hands suddenly clenched into fists. No, it wasn't her fault. The fault belonged to her father... and to an old kitchen knife.

"What are you glaring at?"

"Nothing," she answered, just like she always did. "What are _you_ glaring at?"

"You," he replied stiffly.

Her smile was a grimace as she turned away from him. They both knew each other's names of course, but to call each other by name was a politeness that neither deserved. They always called each other 'you.' Once or twice she had even forgotten what his name was, but she would always find out again after another individual would address him. On the other hand, there was nothing to stop her from forgetting the name she owned. No one spoke to her, no one praised her or hailed her as they did to him. They shared victory as the Heroes of Kvatch, Knight Brother and Sister of the Blades, but no one seemed to remember her. She wasn't memorable, she was just the criminal in chains off to the side. It didn't matter that it was her cunning that actually allowed victory, the knight would always take credit. So really, no one remembered her name, why shouldn't she let it just slip away?

No, her mother would be furious if she allowed herself to forget her name. Sparrow.

She was suddenly jerked out of her sentimental reverie as her horse stopped. They were almost at the crossroads to the Green Road. Almost, but not quite. A small settlement nestled comfortably in a grassy clearing, trees enclosing it protectively. This must be Pell's Gate.

"Why are we stopping?" she asked the knight.

"We're resting here," he replied in as few words possible.

"Why? Afraid of the dark?" she said mildly. "Why can't we keep going through the night for once?"

The knight didn't respond, he was already opening the creaking door of The Sleeping Mare. Immediate cheers of welcome rang out for the _hero_.

"It's Sir Roland! Hero of Kvatch!"

"Sir, we're honored!"

"No, no, you don't pay here, Sir. We're just happy to have you!"

Sparrow tried to hold back a scoff as she hung back, savoring the feel of the sun and the fresh air. Soon, the only thing she'd feel was the bite of the fleas that inhabited the inn's beds, the only thing she'd breathe would be that stale air, used by so many already. Needless to say, she preferred it outside; a love that grew from the hatred of imprisonment. Her shackles clinked as she folded her arms.

"Get in here."

For a tempting moment, she thought of jumping on her horse and just running. As always, the dream died fast.

"Give me a minute. Go get the rooms," she called back. She smirked as she watched him turn away. Who was really in charge here? Sometimes she just wasn't sure.

A prickling feeling on the back of her neck made her glance around uneasily. It felt like someone was watching her... but no one was out here, they were all inside praising the knight. Another of his irritated calls sent her inside, shrugging uncomfortably to herself.

* * *

><p>She awoke to quiet, comforting darkness. A thick, muzzy warmth surrounded her, and the peace of drowsiness hung like fog in her mind. But there was something else, too. A horrible realization dawned on her; she was being watched. She leaped up, dagger in hand, to face whoever it was in the room with her. Her hand clenched invisible cloth, and she raised her dagger, threatening air. Soft laughter breathed in her ear.<p>

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Suddenly she was clutching black robes, her dagger held to the face of a hooded man who held a silver shortsword to her neck in return.

"Who are you and what do you want with me?" she asked, her voice low.

"I'll admit, you've invoked my interest. I have met few who chose to live so blatantly in neither darkness or light, and fewer still have I met who have lived long after they began walking that dim path," the man said in a fluid, silky voice. "I've been watching you for a while, but never had the chance to contact you. Until now, that is."

Whoever he was, he didn't sound like he meant any harm to her, though the sword should have told her otherwise. Hesitantly, she loosed her grip on his robes and lowered her dagger. With a slight smile, the man sheathed his sword.

"I am Lucien Lachance, a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. And you, you are a killer. The Night Mother has been watching you, and she is most pleased with what she saw. That is why I stand here now, with an opportunity... to join our rather unique family..."

She examined his face closely. His facial structure told her that he was an Imperial. He looked like he could handle himself in a fight, and his somewhat crooked nose showed that he'd been in more than a few. There was a sort of cold aura of power and darkness hovering about him. But the proud features did not give any trace of a lie, the honey-brown eyes were sincere.

"Go on," she said with polite uncertainty.

"I understand your hesitation," he said, his tone gentle. "You must trust me though, you will not regret your decision."

She inclined her head curiously, taken in by the hypnotic sound of his voice. "What must I do?"

Gloved fingertips brushed against her hand, his touch a caress. He closed her hand over the sturdy hilt of a blade.

"Travel down the Green Road. Not far from here, you shall find the Inn of Ill Omen. There you will find an old man, Rufio." A passionate fire glinted behind those brown orbs, his next words came in an almost reverent, hissing whisper. "Kill him. Send his spirit to the Void and the Dark Brotherhood will embrace you as family."

Her eyes flashed down to the black-and-gold blade in her hand. She could imagine it, slipping into his room, the pleasurable feeling of closure as the blade sliced through flesh, grazed against bone. She frowned inwardly. Perhaps she wasn't imagining, but remembering again. She looked up again, but there was no one to see. The door ghosted open and closed itself silently. He was gone.

* * *

><p>She was sitting on her bedroll, fully dressed, when the knight came to check on her in the morning. Lachance's gift was hidden safely away, she could feel the cold metal of the blade resting against the small of her back. They rode down the Green Road in stiff silence, the ever-present tension between them rearing its ugly head once more. Sparrow shifted uncomfortably as they rode ever closer to the Inn of Ill Omen. How would she complete this task if they just rode past it? She chuckled softly to herself. There was no question about whether she would go through with it, she had been completely convinced by Lachance. She laughed again. Just a few words from that stranger and she'd give herself up to darkness? It appeared so.<p>

The knight gave her a sobering glance. Well, perhaps not _entirely_ up to darkness. Her manacles suddenly felt heavier, a reminder that there was still good in her yet.

A rustling in the bushes was their only alert before a group of bandits crashed out of the undergrowth. Their chainmail glinted dully as the Khajiit group shifted and leered, hiking their battle axes up onto their shoulders. It figures that something like this had to happen so early in the day. Sparrow stifled a yawn with a smile as someone began to speak.

"I'm afraid this is where you stop," the Khajiit leader said loudly. "Get off of your horses. You'll give us what we want or die."

"I have to disagree," the knight replied, bristling. "On my authority as Warder of the Fighter's Guild, and on the authority of the Imperial Law, I suggest you step aside."

Sparrow burst out laughing, did the knight actually expect to be obeyed by bandits? Sliding nimbly off of her horse, she waltzed unabashedly into no-man's land, a crooked smile on her face. The knight knew nothing of how a dark mind functioned, but she would have more luck.

"Well, tell us what you want," she said cheerfully.

"Your money!" the leader sputtered reproachfully, confused at the girl's friendliness. "Your armor, and your horses!"

"You want the horses?" she scoffed. "Do you really want them? They're Bays, cheap things. And you want money?" She tossed him a heavy purse, filled with golden septims. "Take it. You won't get anything off of the armor though, it's all beaten up. There should be enough there for compensation, though."

The Khajiit gawked at her, their leader gazing inside the bag with wide eyes. He looked back up at her, a rather stupid expression on his face.

She sighed, her patience running thin. She folded her arms. "Funny, I seem to be having a change of good will..."

The group gave the leader imploring, pleading looks. He weighed the purse in his hand again and grinned.

"Fair enough, move it!" he shouted at them, fastening the purse to his belt. Sparrow nodded to him, a sly smile on her face, as she took the reigns and led the horses and disgruntled knight past. She remounted with a satisfied smirk, the highwaymen still staring in some bewilderment at their retreating figures.

"Young upstart! You've lost us all our money!" The knight lunged at her, grabbing her forcefully by the arm to get her attention.

"Oh, that," she said, conjuring up the purse. "Thanks for letting me borrow it, by the way."

The knight snarled in discontent, still maintaining a firm grip on her arm. "You filthy pickpocket..." As if in response to his words, a dagger came flying towards them, burying itself into his bicep with such force that it penetrated the knight's armor. He cried out in surprise, clutching his arm close to himself. Sparrow turned, her bow instantly in hand, but the bandits had run off of the road. It's a shame they noticed the money was gone before the pair could finish their escape. Her attention fell on the knight, clutching his arm and muttering curses under his breath. She leaned over and pulled the knife out of his arm, none too gently. He sucked in a breath, giving her a glare of pain.

"That went deep," she commented. "You might want to rest and patch that up before we get to Bravil, the place is a sewer."

She cleaned the blood off of the dagger with her sleeve before she noticed it. A dark hand was engraved into the steel of the blade. Perhaps the bandits weren't to blame.

"You're exaggerating," he argued, calling her attention back.

She shook her head. "If you walk in there with your arm like that you'll have an infection in about two seconds." The knight's face gave away a deep dread at the word 'infection.'

"We - we'll stop at the Faregyl Inn then," he said, coughing away his stutter.

Sparrow nodded in assent, her face impassive though her heart leaped at the opportunity Lachance had provided her.

* * *

><p>True to his word, the knight had called a halt at Faregyl. For the first time, Sparrow handled the money as he trudged tiredly up the stairs. She could hear him clanging around as he took off his heavy armor.<p>

"The beds do not cost this much!" the patron said, her eyes widening as Sparrow handed her a generous amount.

"Keep the change," Sparrow replied. Her eyes darkened slightly, "We don't want to be disturbed tonight, alright?"

"Of course, madam!" the patron replied enthusiastically, bowing.

"Excellent..." she trailed off without looking at the patron. Without another word she breezed up the stairs. Locking the door behind her, she sat determinedly on the bed and waited for nightfall, a memory of a resonant voice running ceaselessly through her head.

* * *

><p>She smiled to herself at the sound of snores coming from the knight's room. Someone was making this too easy for her. She slipped out of her room and left the inn, the chill wind of dusk almost making her shiver. The shadows deepened as she walked to the Inn of Ill Omen, the sun straining to keep the land alight. It flared in a golden show of prowess before vanishing, leaving the path in darkness.<p>

The inn stood out along the side of the road, and seemed to fit into the dreary new habit the weather had taken up. It was so grossly different from the Faregyl that it almost hurt to look, and for some reason this made her laugh. Where the Faregyl was welcoming, colorful, and soft, the Inn of Ill Omen was considerably lacking. It appeared as though the Inn had been set up as a Legion stop, and seemed to have been assembled quite quickly. It leaned to one side slightly, and as she walked towards it, a Legion soldier emerged and began to practice his aim on a target set up outside. He didn't glance at her as she walked behind him, the door creaking loudly as she boldly entered. Not a single person so much as looked at her.

A sort of dark foreboding stole over her as she descended the ladder to the cellar. She walked along the corridor, towards the last door. An old man lay sleeping on a well-used bed. _Rufio_. Sparrow hesitated at his bedside. She could turn back now, her first kill had been different; desperation, necessity, madness even, had driven her to it. But this... could she deliberately slaughter this man?

A memory of those brown eyes surfaced quickly, and she felt the touch of a remembered hand. She could feel his firm grasp again, guiding her hand, closing her fist over the blade's hilt.

"_The Dark Brotherhood will embrace you as family..."_

The dagger slid smoothly from its sheath without a sound. Her gentle hand held his head steady, the tip of her dagger touching his throat just a few inches under his ear. Rufio's eyes opened at the cold and unfamiliar touch, gasping in realization as he focused on the unforgiving black-and-gold blade. And that would be his last breath, she mused to herself. A swift and powerful cut across his throat came easily from the flick of her wrist. Rufio gurgled in agony, his severed trachea unable to give air to his lungs, which were now steadily filling with blood. The thick liquid gushed in an endless torrent from his wound, increasing and decreasing in time with the weakening beats of his dying heart.

She closed her eyes for a moment, a wave of sadness rushing over her. She listened as the old man's blood dripped onto the stone floor, she could feel the warmth of it soaking through the sheets where her hand rested, and she could smell its coppery odor permeating the room. Perhaps this wasn't the right choice for her... But she could imagine an approving smile, glittering brown orbs shining from underneath a dark hood.

She stood abruptly, pausing to wipe her hand and dagger clean on the parts of the sheets that remained unsoiled. A sudden sense of urgency had seized her, she began to feel claustrophobic in the dim cellar room. She forced herself to walk slowly as she resurfaced into the inn, avoiding the watchful gaze of the patron. And she left, none of the men staying there would remember her, hardly any of them having known she was there.

An uncharacteristically cold breeze stung her face as she walked back to the Faregyl. Finally away from the dark oppression of the Inn of Ill Omen, her dark act suddenly became unthinkable. She shuddered, the full shock of it stealing over her. She'd just killed someone. Thanks to her, Rufio, old and frail, was now dead. Slaughtered like an animal, and she'd done it without a second thought.

She retreated to her room, not bothering to lock the door. When would they find his body? Would it take them only hours, or perhaps days? She cursed herself inwardly. She could imagine the scene now, a certain concerned inkeeper - more likely concerned that Rufio didn't get up to pay his tab than anything else - would enter the room... Or would he smell the blood before he even opened the door? There was enough of it for that to seem like a plausible thing to happen. She wondered if the patron had the stomach for what he'd see.

A loud snore from the next room caused her to flinch. She shook her head, cursing herself once more. She dropped on to the bed with something almost like uncertainty. For a moment, she hated the thought of falling asleep. She lay there for a while, caught up in self-loathing. It was unlike her to regret. Then again, it was unlike her to do something worth regretting...

* * *

><p>She recognized his presence, a pleasant chill to her blood telling her all she needed to know. She blinked away any remaining trace of drowsiness, sitting up.<p>

"I congratulate you, child," he was smiling as he spoke, "on an excellent kill."

She found herself smiling shyly in return. "This is yours," she murmured, presenting him with the knife he'd thrown at the knight.

He laughed lowly in true amusement. "Keep it. Consider it another gift." He became more serious, but it was obvious that he was well pleased. "The slaying of Rufio was the signing of a covenant. The manner of execution, your signature. Rufio's blood, the ink."

She looked down at the sound of Rufio's name, and this did not go unnoticed.

"Know, my little bird, that Rufio deserved demise. You would be surprised to know how many do." A dark gleam flashed in his eyes, a hint of dark humor and malice hidden there. "You need not regret killing. You should find your duties in the Dark Brotherhood most enjoyable."

She looked up once more, his words granting reassurance. But now her curiosity was also engaged.

"Listen well, child of Sithis. As a Speaker of the Black Hand, I directly oversee a particular group of family members. You will join that group, and fulfill any contracts given. You must now go to the city of Cheydinhal, to the abandoned house near the eastern wall. Enter the basement, and attempt to open the black door. You will be asked a question. Answer thusly: 'Sanguine, my Brother.' You will gain entrance to the Sanctuary. Once inside, speak with Ocheeva."

Sparrow nodded, a thrill running through her. "Will you be there?"

A short chuckle escaped him. "No, my little bird. I have my own duties, as will you when the time comes."

She dipped her head in embarrassed acknowledgement. "Thank you, Speaker... for everything."

His hand rested on her shoulder, and she was hyper-aware of his touch. "We must now take our leave of each other, you and I, for there is much work to be done. I'll be following... your progress. Welcome to the family."

He vanished before her eyes, the weight of his touch lifted as well. Her eyes drifted to the door to watch it open and close itself. That would be the last she saw of him for a long while, though she did not know it at the time. The warmth and comfort of the bed was suddenly welcoming, something it had failed to be last night. There was a hint of a smile at her lips as she lay down, and her eyes drifted closed just as the first light of dawn crept through her window.


End file.
